


build, carve and get messy

by woodhouse



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fluff, Halloween
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-16
Updated: 2016-10-16
Packaged: 2018-08-22 19:23:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8297378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/woodhouse/pseuds/woodhouse
Summary: Clarke's not used to adults turning up to her Halloween workshops. Especially not unfairly cute ones.





	

Usually Clarke's craft workshops at Ark Community Center are limited to Christmastime. If she's honest, she rarely has the time to run them at any other point during the year, and by the time it gets to December she's incredibly guilty that she hasn't done anything to help out. The community center is barely getting by as it is, constantly under threat from developers roaming into town in shiny suits, thin ties, and pretentious business cards. Clarke hates the idea that it could get knocked down: turned into flashy apartments that nobody but rich people can live in, or another square office block.

When she walks by in the beginning of October, leaves just starting to curl and brown under her feet, and sees the sign posted outside the wide pane windows of the front door she stops.

_~~Halloween Workshops~~_ Cancelled

Clarke doesn't even realise what she's doing until she's already ringing the bell at the reception desk.

An elderly woman, wisps of greying hair falling out of her bun, pokes her head around a corridor.

"Yes, dear?"

"Hi, I want to talk to somebody about your Halloween workshops."

 

So. That's how Clarke finds herself dragging her body out of bed early on a Saturday, head full of gingerbread. Seriously. She'd spent the evening before baking batches and batches of the stuff, in case the sheets her mom had brought over for her weren't enough. Maybe you might call it going overboard, but on the plus side her apartment smelt _amazing_. Clarke likes to be prepared, but she also likes to sleep. After checking that her bag and box of supplies were good to go and waiting for her by the front door, and putting on some overalls atop her plain white top, she collapses again on her couch for a power nap before she has to go. So what? If she looks like a zombie when she arrives then at least it's on point.

She smiles when she sees a couple of kids already waiting for the community center to open.

"Hey guys! You here to become master builders?" she greets them.

Their eyes are bright and eager, and their parents look just as relieved that she's turned up.

"Come on in, you can help me set up."

Within half an hour, the space has filled up. Four large play tables are home to about three or four kids each. Some parents have left for coffees, and will pick their kids up later. Other parents cluster at the edges of the room or in the hallway, chatting. Clarke makes sure that each area has equal amounts of supplies: she counts the paints, tubes, bowls and nods to herself in satisfaction. She's ready.

Just as she's about to begin, somebody else walks into the room. Someone _hot_. He isn't accompanied by a child or young person of any description, causing Clarke to frown slightly in confusion. But, you know, not in a way that's too obvious (she hopes). I mean, it's not like there's an age limit to these workshops - they are just _generally_ populated by kids.

"Is this the gingerbread house workshop?" the guy asks. His voice is deep and smooth, and it might sound mocking if it weren't for the genuine openness of his expression. Warm brown eyes lock on to hers, and he gently shakes some wayward curls - loose and dark - from where they're falling onto his face. He hovers near the entrance to the room, until he hears Clarke's reply.

"Yeah -" Clarke finds her voice. "Come on in," she says but he's already started to stride forward, taking a seat at one of the play tables.

He looks - _ridiculous_. He's broad and gorgeous and literally towering over the kids at his table. They turn and look at him with wide eyes, but the smile he gives them is nothing short of adorable. Still. It doesn't stop Clarke from struggling to bite back on her laugh. If he notices, he doesn't say anything.

 

Clarke gets really into her instruction. She always does. She's a whirlwind of flailing arms, wide eyes, and generous praise. Firstly, she shows the kids - and the odd one out - how to construct their walls using four panes of gingerbread and a tube of icing. She demonstrates the specific swirls and thickness she prefers to get what she tells them is 'the right stick'. The kids don't pay much attention, to be fair, but _he_ does. He listens intently, watches her carefully, nods slightly, and then imitates her perfectly. Clarke's not really in the workshop game to get a sense of achievement other than fun but she has to admit, it feels good to see someone following her instructions and actually doing a good job.

Once they've attached the roofs (okay maybe Clarke and Brown Eyes have to do it for all the kids) it's on to the fun part. Decorating. It's honestly, a bit of a free for all, which gives Clarke the chance to not-so-subtly approach him.

When she reaches his table, he's sorting through the bowl of jelly tots with a determined look on his face. He has freckles, Clarke notices now that she's closer, that cluster in random beautiful patterns across his face. He doesn't move from his task when she starts speaking to him, as if he already knew she was watching.

"Is there anything I can help you with?"

He finds a green one and starts applying icing to the flat side. "Nope, I'm good."

He sticks the sweet onto the outside of his house only to watch it slide down the wall in horror. Clarke snorts and then tries to hide it behind her hand.

Despite the hard glance he gives her, the twist in his mouth looks too much like a smile to put Clarke off.

"You need to hold it down a little bit longer before you let go. Otherwise -" She waves her hand to the sorry display of the lone jelly tot on the table. She adopts a mock stern voice to try to get a laugh out of him, "- there are grave consequences. It has its desired effect. He ducks his head and laughs in faux dejection.

"I'm Clarke," she introduces herself, holding out her hand for him in greeting. He takes it; his hand feels firm and warm in hers and it sort of sends a shiver down her spine and sort of makes her hand sweaty. "I don't see a lot of your sort around here."

"And what sort might that be?"

He drops her hand.

Clarke smiles. "Oh, you know. The over 12s."

His smile is bright and distracting. "Yeah, I'm starting to notice. I'm Bellamy."

"Hi Bellamy."

"Hi Clarke."

"What brings you here?"

Bellamy lets out a light groan. "It's the age old story. Girl asks boy favour. Boy agrees reluctantly. Boy realises favour is being Chief Decorator at Girl's Halloween Party."

The soft laugh that escapes Clarke's mouth is enough, she hopes, to mask the drop in building adrenalin as soon as she heard him say the word girl. "The things we do for love, eh," she comments.

"Yeah - you could say that."

"Well, I better go and see what the rest of these little terrors are up to. Good luck with your decorating."

He gives her a little salute as he starts to walk away and _by god_ he's unfairly cute.

 

At the end of the workshop, the room is swarming with adults collecting their kids, balancing the gingerbread houses in one hand and grasping for their kids in the other. Clarke helps as much as she can amidst wiping down the tables. She wants to get out of there just like the rest of them and enjoy the rest of her day. If that day is slobbing around, eating leftover gingerbread and watching Netflix then so what? She's done her good deed for the day. Bellamy catches her eye before he leaves, looking stupidly proud of his house. It looks pretty good, she has to admit. She gives him a thumbs up, mouths _nice job_ , and watches his smile grow wider as he backs out of the room.

 

She's not expecting to see him again, so when he walks in at the last minute of her next Halloween workshop, she actually stops in the middle of her sentence.

"Clarke?" a kid at the front called Charlotte innocently asks.

"Huh?"

"What about knives?" Charlotte points to the carving knife in Clarke's hand.

"Oh right. Yes. The most important thing about these knives, kids, is that you are not using them. We just don't have the insurance for that impending disaster." The parents around the room chuckle. "So that's why your responsible adult is with you all today, okay? So be nice to them or else they won't do your carving."

Exaggerated groans rise up around the room as the kids turn their heads to their adults: older siblings, parents, family friends. It didn't matter. That's what Clarke loves about this place. It brings so many people together. Bellamy had settled into an empty seat at a table and was looking at her with amused eyes.

Once everyone had picked a pumpkin and a pattern, Clarke instructs the adults to get carving. The kids get involved by scooping out the insides and defying everybody's expectations of mess, as if they're competing in national trials.

Clarke unashamedly uses the excuse to walk around to where Bellamy is sat, methodically carving away. She can't see from here which pattern he's picked out, and she's curious.

"You have the habit of walking silently up to people, did you know that?" he asks her before she can say anything.

She laughs delightedly behind him and she can see from here that the tips of his ears are turning slightly pink.

"Sorry, I was going for stealth. I uh - wasn't expecting to see you again."

Bellamy pauses his diligent carving and turns to give her a quick smile. "Well, the party's not until tonight so I thought this would be you know, my piece de resistance."

"Can I see?"

"Sure, I mean I've barely started but-"

"You went for Beetlejuice. Classic choice."

He must have sensed the beam of pride on her face. "Did you make these patterns?" At her nod, he looks suitably impressed. "Wow, you're really talented. I just figured you'd printed them from Google or something."

"For shame, Bellamy. Plagiarism is real and bad."

He just nods, busying himself spreading the other patterns by his table to admire her work. There's a range of stuff to try to cater to most tastes. Some more pop culture image references: Salem the cat, the Hocus Pocus witches, Eleven from Stranger Things, some zombified kids' characters - a Lisa Simpson here, a Squidward there. Then just a random selection of easily carveable templates for adults who want no fuss: ghosts, skeletons, witch hats. Clarke peruses the room as he stares, nodding in appreciation. Everyone looks like they're having a great time. The adults busy carving, the kids getting messy, or getting the paints and collage material they can use later to decorate.

"They're all really good, my sister would love any of them."

She's brought back to her senses at Bellamy's continued compliments.

"Thanks," and then - because she can't help herself, "your sister?"

Bellamy's smile is... pointed, to say the least. Maybe she wasn't being as chill last week as she hoped.

"Yeah, Octavia. It's her party tonight."

"Good." _Shit_. Clarke's eyes turn wild in a blink. "I mean, that's good _of you_. You're a good brother. For doing this."

Bellamy chuckles and goes back to his carving and if that just isn't the most maddening thing in the world then Clarke--

"You're cute when you're nervous." His voice is quiet but amused, but she hears it.

Clarke doesn't want to know how red her face is right now. She's thankful that Bellamy doesn't turn around.

 

It's disappointing later, when everyone has packed up and left and Clarke finds herself alone. The room is mostly clean but there's a sickly sweet smell in the air: the leftovers of pumpkins and tiny little humans.

She's dragging her box of supplies out of the front door when she sees him kick off the wall and join her.

"Bellamy."

He has his pumpkin resting on his hip. It looks great; she tells him as much.

"Thanks. I had a pretty handy pattern to carve from."

He walks over to her and bats some hair from his eyes. She watches his throat clench and unclench and wonders what he wants to say.

"Well," when he doesn't speak for what feels like forever. She's all locked up and ready to go home. "Have a nice night."

As she starts to walk down the path, he walks along with her. She tries not to notice him glancing over towards her.

"Yeah, about that-"

"About what?"

"Tonight."

Clarke heart beats a little heavier as she looks up at him in question. He looks nervous; it's a good look. His eyes scuttle over her face, as if he can't decide where they want to settle. "I was wondering if you were doing anything. Because, if you weren't, there's a party I know of."

"Oh yeah?" she teases slightly.

"I know it's Halloween weekend, so if you already have plans-"

"I'd love to."

The relief allows him to bring his smirk back. God she likes his face.

"Great. If you give me your number I'll text you the address."

 

The cab ride is eight minutes long. Clarke knows this because she keeps obsessively clutching at her phone to check if any of this is about to crash and burn around her. He might cancel. Or, he might send her another photo of where he's decided to hang his shop bought decorations. She's already seen where the gingerbread house and pumpkin are. _Centerpieces_. He's too cute for his own good, she thinks.

When she knocks on the door, Clarke presumes that it's Octavia who greets her. The party is already in full swing - it's not a rager from what she can tell in the doorway, but the ground floor of their house looks comfortably full and noisy. Clarke had decided to arrive a little late to give her time to steel her nerves.

"Are you Clarke?" the girl in the doorway demands. _Definitely Octavia_ , she thinks. She's dressed as a cat, or maybe Catwoman? Clarke is unsure but she looks hot - long dark hair and stunning jawline. Clarke glances down at her own outfit; she hadn't had time to find a costume at such late notice.

"Yeah, hi - I'm sorry I didn't come in cost-"

"Bell!" Octavia shouts. "She's here!"

His little sister literally drags Clarke by the hand through their door and into a one armed hug. "Oh my god," she whispers into her ear, "Bell will not _shut up_ about you."

Clarke can smell the alcohol on her breath but hopes she's sober enough to be telling the truth.

"You made it," Bellamy says as he appears from the kitchen. He walks over to her, smile on his face.

"She's hot, Bell," Octavia says blatantly.

If Bellamy's embarrassed, he doesn't show it - just tells his sister to leave them alone.

"Hi," Clarke says in greeting, tucking her hair behind her ear and looking him up and down. He looks amazing, but he's just wearing a t-shirt and jeans, and it makes Clarke feel instantly better for total lack of costume.

"I thought maybe you weren't going to show," he says quickly, as if he didn't really want to admit it.

Clarke huffs out a breathless laugh. "I was giving you the chance to back out-"

His response is enough to let her know that he was never going to use it.

Bellamy launches himself towards her, mouth latching onto her own as he crowds her against the front door. By the time Clarke feels the wood against her back she's responding with enthusiasm, chasing after his mouth and winding her arms around his neck. His kiss is hot and soft, his hands at her waist keeping her in place. Like she wants to be anywhere else.

"I've been thinking about doing this as soon as the party started and you weren't here," he tells her between short kisses and light nips along her jaw. He huffs out a sigh - of relief, frustration? - and nuzzles his mouth against her neck.

"Not before?" Clarke asks.

"I was going to be a lot more charming before, instead of you know - jumping you on sight."

"No complaints here." Her hands find their way into the curls of his hair and pull him up so her lips can find his again.

 

Usually interruptions are the work of the devil, but in this case, when Octavia stumbles into the hall again and yells "gross!" Clarke thinks it might be a case of saved by the sister. As much as she enjoys - and she is really truly enjoying - the feel of Bellamy's hand up her top and mouth blazing on her throat, she actually wants to make a good impression on him and his friends. And finish this later, "maybe not in the hallway," Clarke whispers.

Bellamy backs away, linking his hand with hers as he walks them both past Octavia, pretending to wretch at the sight of them.

"And not in front of the kids," he says, ruffling her hair.

 


End file.
